“It was my father himself who brought him up from the scaur,” she whispered, in a voice too low for Kemm to hear. And as the housekeeper looked at her incredulously, she added: “My father, the man I have always called Crispin. He told me to bring him home.”
Mrs. Bean turned abruptly to Kemm.
“Where did you find this gentleman?” she asked. “Who was with him?”
“This little leady, and your husband.”
Freda started. The wizened and grinning man who had threatened her and stabbed John Thurley was, then, Nell’s husband, the veritable Crispin Bean.
Kemm’s answer, while it disturbed her, reassured the housekeeper, who reluctantly gave Kemm permission to bring the unconscious man indoors.
“I’m sure I don’t know where to put him,” she said discontentedly, though Freda was happy in discovering a gleam of pity in her round face.
“Put him in my father’s room,” said Freda with unexpected authority. And she led the way upstairs, beckoning to Kemm to follow her with his burden. She had rapidly decided that this room would be the safest in the house.
As soon as John Thurley had been placed upon the bed and Kemm had gone, Freda was delighted to find that her trust in Nell’s goodness of heart had not been misplaced. The young girl wanted to go for a doctor, but this the housekeeper would not allow, saying that she could do what had to be done as well as any man. She proceeded to prove this by binding up his wound with skilful hands. Presently John Thurley opened his eyes, as he had done several times during the journey from the beach. This time, however, he was not allowed to relapse into unconsciousness. Applying a restorative to his lips, Mrs. Bean spoke to him cheerfully, and got some sort of feebly muttered answer. He caught sight of Freda, who was helping Mrs. Bean, and gave her a smile of recognition. But Nell sent her away lest he should want to talk to her.
Freda left the room obediently, but went no further away than the great window-seat on the landing outside. Here she curled herself up, trying to keep warm, and looked out on the moonlit stretch of country. She was full of disquieting thoughts. This man, who had been kind to her, whose life she was trying to save, had seen the murderer of the man-servant Blewitt, and could recognise him. The fact of his having kept this knowledge to himself for so long could only be explained by his belief that the murderer was dead, and could not be brought to justice. If he were to learn that the murderer was not dead after all, Freda felt that she knew the man well enough to be sure that no consideration would deter him from bringing punishment upon the criminal. And that criminal she could no longer doubt was her father. If she could only see her father again, and warn him to keep away, as she had meant but had missed the opportunity to do, it would be all right. It never occurred to her that her influence with John Thurley would be strong enough to induce him to keep silence. On the other hand, there was danger to be feared from the real Crispin; perhaps also from his wife, who, when she learnt who struck the blow, might be too dutiful to her husband to continue her care of his victim. But in this she did Nell an injustice.